


The Hidden Talents of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper

by the_noble_bachelorette84



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly, F/M, Music, NSFW, Piano, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_noble_bachelorette84/pseuds/the_noble_bachelorette84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly go undercover to find a murder suspect, but end up learning much more about each other than they ever thought they would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden Talents of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by this photo on tumblr! Please show the blogger some love, and like and reblog the post! It's so beautiful! (Oh, and don't steal it! That's rude!)
> 
> http://angel-in-me.tumblr.com/post/87992407508/i-didnt-know-you-could-play-you-never

They were on the case. Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. John Watson was staying with his wife, who was on bed rest, pregnant with their child. Not that he needed anyone to help him. He was brilliant. Beyond words. Molly wasn’t unhelpful, though. She made observations that surprised him. Not quite correct, but definitely less wrong that John usually was. They had gone undercover as a couple to a swanky charity event, hoping to find someone with the motive to murder a young debutant.  
They had come up with a few decent leads, but nothing concrete. There was to be another event the next evening, and since they were hours away from their respective homes, they decided to stay that night at the fancy hotel in which the events were to take place.  
Keeping up a façade of romance was paramount, so separate rooms were out of the question. Thankfully, the couch in their large suite was more comfortable than Molly’s own bed. Sherlock would need the space to think, of course, so she would take the couch, and he the bed.  
Molly dragged the flat sheet, a pillow from the bed, and an extra blanket from one of the drawers of the dresser into the sitting room of the luxurious suite. She caught a glimpse of Sherlock in the bathroom untying his bowtie. How was she going to sleep in such close proximity to this man after they’d pretended, he much more than she, to be lovers. Every touch meant to give everyone else the wrong idea about them was giving her ideas that were wrong in an entirely different sense. Every time he lead her by the small of her back through a door, she pictured him leading her to a bed; each peck on the cheek, in her mind, was followed by progressively lower ones, or ones that enveloped her open mouth. She was acting, but only in the sense that she had to hide the way his actions were affecting her, and the sadness she felt that they weren’t genuine.  
She had to cool off a bit. She had to be alone to think. She needed a hard drink and maybe an outlet for her emotions. Didn’t she see a baby grand in the dining room next to the hotel bar? She’d get a whiskey or a glass of wine and play some of her favorites, and try to let the hammer strikes on the taught cords pound the want from her head.  
“Sherlock, I’m going to get a drink.”  
“Mmm.” He replied, lying flat as paper on the unmade bed, still in socks, trousers, and tux shirt, the last of which having its top two buttons undone, his hands in his “thinking pose” which looked like he was praying for a new revelation. But Molly knew the highest power in the mind of Sherlock Holmes…was Sherlock Holmes.  
She rolled her eyes, slipped on the flats she had brought so she didn’t have to be in stilettos the whole weekend, and rode down to the main level. The event had gone quite late, but the bar was still open at ten to midnight when she stepped off the lift. There were a few patrons at a few of the tables, so she knew she wouldn’t be imposing if she ordered a drink to go. Not that she would leave the hotel with it, but these hotel bars were always lenient about their glasswear. Molly lit on one of the chrome stools upholstered in black plastic that was meant to look like leather.  
She deliberated for a moment, and eventually waved the barkeep down for a double whiskey, which the bartender delivered in short order  
“Jameson, eh? That’s my kind of drink. You must be my kind of woman!” Molly barely looked up at the man who’d materialized next to her.  
“Well, it would seem that I’m certainly NOT your kind of woman. Jameson is for children. This is Talisker.”  
“Oh, a feisty one. I like that, love. How about I buy your next one, Jameson, and we can discuss the difference in their flavors. I can think of all kinds of creative ways to sample the stuff.”  
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I’m on a level that Jameson cannot reach, mate. So you keep your Jameson, chase it with a wine cooler, and then shove the bottle up your arse, because that’s all the action you’ll be getting tonight if you’re relying on your charm instead of your bank account to get it.” She slid off the chair and turned to grab her glass, but her new friend grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward him, holding her hand closer to his bulge than she would like.  
“Oh, and a quick tongue, you know where I’d like a quick tongue, I bet.”  
“Oh, I’m sure I do.” She said, leaning into him as if the ignorant banter was actually working.  
“Yeah?” he said, such hope in his voice it was nearly heartbreaking.  
“Yeah, stud! You want me to show you?”  
“I do, poppet!”  
“You asked for it.” She whispered, sheer sex dripping from her tongue.  
She delivered a knee to his groin, swift and hard.  
“That about the spot, mate?”  
He doubled over, nodding.  
“You did ask for it, ya know?”  
“Bitch.” He uttered, breathless.  
Molly, even if she tried, couldn’t have given a single fuck what this Neanderthal thought of her.  
“Yeah, and so’s your mum.” She grabbed the glass from the counter and turned toward the piano.  
She walked toward the section of the expansive room with the short platform on which the instrument stood. She took a seat on the cushioned bench, sat her glass on a small table nearby and to her left, and began plunking away experimentally on the keys, trying to get a feel for them as it had been awhile since she’d played something other than her electric keyboard. Her feet found the pedals, and she began to play one of her favorite slow Bach pieces. She loved the German composer more than most others, and had memorized a number of his piano concertos. She played the first movement of one all the way through, and as the final chord ceased its reverberations, she heard applause nearby. She whipped her head around and saw a sight she would never have expected.  
“Sherlock! What are you doing here?”  
“Can’t a man leave his hotel room to have a drink with his beautiful and talented girlfriend?” He said with a cheeky grin. Ah, it was part of the deception. He must have gotten wind that a suspect would materialize here, and she was decent cover.  
“I suppose he CAN, I just didn’t expect him to!”  
He stepped up onto the platform to sit on the bench to her right, setting his glass of amber-colored liquid on the opposite side table as hers.  
“You should know by now that I’m full of surprises, Molly Hooper. But maybe not quite so much as are you! I had no idea you played.”  
“You never asked. And it’s not like I get to practice or utilize my skills in my field.”  
“I know precisely your feelings. I feel similarly about dancing. I love to dance, but I so rarely have actual occasion to do so. I just always hope for a case to come along that will require such skills.”  
“And tonight provided! You made me feel like Ginger Rogers, being whisked around the dance floor by Fred Astaire!” At his blank expression, she explained, “Classic American film stars…from the 30’s and 40’s. Ring any bells?”  
“Not a single one, I’m afraid.”  
“Shame. They’re quite lovely together.” Molly sighed and took a healthy drink from her glass. It burned, but burned well, descending inter her belly, making her feel more comfortable with her current situation of proximity to her…what did you call someone like Sherlock Holmes? “Crush” seemed infantile, but “infatuation” seemed a bit obsessive.  
“Do you take requests, Miss Hooper?”  
“Depends on the request.”  
“Do you know ‘Heart and Soul’?”  
It was her turn to look puzzled.  
“You must have learned it once.” He hummed a few bars and she quickly picked up on it.  
“Oh, of course! Shall we play it together? I’ll take the bass line, you take the melody?”  
They played the verse a few times, getting into a rhythm, and Sherlock began to hum along.  
“You know what brought this song to my mind?”  
“The fact that it’s basically obligatory to play it if two people are seated at the same piano?”  
He chuckled. “No, you did. Tonight while we were pret—while we were at the party. You kissed my cheek when you left for the powder room.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“Didn’t you learn the lyrics?”  
She shook her head.  
“Well, from the top then!”  
He began singing along with the music as they played.  
“Heart and soul, I fell in love with you heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly...  
Because you held me tight, And stole a kiss in the night...”  
Molly wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Sherlock Holmes was…she could hardly think it. Was he actually…serenading…her?! She let him go on, struggling to concentrate on her part, and not falter in her timing or hand placement. He continued…

“Heart and soul, I begged to be adored, lost control, and tumbled overboard, gladly...  
That magic night we kissed, there in the moon mist.”  
It seemed such a simple and obvious thing to do at the time. Would she not have kissed any of the boyfriends she’d had before stepping away, for however brief a time. It was a façade, of course, but she tried to play her role. It was hardly her fault that the role was one she’d wanted to play since first meeting the detective. 

“Oh, but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling, never before were mine so strangely willing.”  
And now, he was telling her, even if it was in song, that he was madly in love with her, that he was glad for it, and that she excited him, and he was completely ok with all of it!  
“But now I see, what one embrace can do. Look at me, it's got me loving you, madly...  
That little kiss you stole, held all my heart and soul.”  
They ended with a flourish, grinning at each other.  
“Well, talking about surprises, I had no idea you could sing, Mr. Holmes!”  
“You never asked, Miss Hooper!”  
They each downed the rest of their beverages, a bit awkwardly. Molly ran a hand up Sherlock’s back, landing at the nape of his neck where a few short hairs prickled at the skin there as she played with them. Her mum had been a fan of the old saying “fortune rewards the bold.” So bold, she would be.  
“So, are there any other hidden talents you have that I should know about?” She looked up at him through her long, still mascara-coated lashes.  
He leaned in, zeroing in on her lips with his own. “One or two.” And he closed the distance, enveloping her mouth with his own. Her lips had parted immediately to allow his lithe tongue to enter and explore, greedily. He grabbed her by the base of her skull with both hands as the kiss deepened and then slowed to a halt. Their foreheads met as they attempted to catch their breaths.  
“Are you ready to go back to the room, darling? I don’t think we should continue on this path right here. People would definitely talk.”  
“People do little else.” She smirked, but immediately left the bench and pulled the detective, her detective, behind her, dragging him by his arm to the lift. She pushed the “up” button, and as they waited for it to arrive, she looked up at him and asked, “How long have you felt this way, Sherlock?”  
“Since long before ‘Jim from IT,’ darling. Maybe I didn’t handle that as well as I could have, but I suppose it all worked out in the end.” The lift doors dinged, and they darted quickly between them before they had slid completely open. Molly quickly pressed the button for the top floor where their room was, but the doors stopped on a rather drunken arm.  
“Going up, mate? Oh—“ It was Molly’s “friend” from the bar.  
“Get the next one…mate.” Molly hissed as she pushed him back out.  
“Friend of yours?” Sherlock quizzed as the doors sealed.  
“Do you kick your friends in the balls?”  
“Only on really important cases. Not sure John’s ever forgiven me. But at least we know it didn’t adversely affect his ability to reproduce, which was his primary concern.”  
“Stop talking and make use of this empty elevator, Sherlock Holmes.”  
The way she said his name was simply indecent. He pressed her against the wall of the lift, hard, without further provocation and kissed her, relentless with his tongue. She ran her fingers through his thick, soft hair, tugging gently at the chestnut locks. Sherlock whimpered, grabbed her wrists, and pinned them above her head. He continued kissing her breathlessly, grinding his body against hers, desperate for friction in any form.  
He released her wrists and crouched down, reaching under the skirt of her knee-length dress to remove her knickers. She stepped out of them and he pocketed them, but not before bringing them to his nose for a brief sniff. He smiled impishly at her scandalized expression.  
“I wanted a preview of what’s to come!” he grinned and winked, then pulled her wrists back up above her, pinning them with one hand this time, and reaching under her clothes again with the other. She stepped out a bit to give him easier access to her warm flesh, already slick with the need of him. He found her opening, and slid a finger in and out, searching for that sweet spot inside her. He found it quickly, and Molly gasped as he did.  
“Yes, Sherlock, there! Oh fuck!”  
He didn’t quicken or apply more pressure. He just kept up that infuriatingly slow and gentle pace until the lift pinged open. They met no one between the lift and their door. Sherlock had the keycard in hand as soon as they entered the hallway. Molly was walking a bit unsteadily from the dizzying fingering she’d just gotten. As they crossed the threshold, Sherlock immediately set out the “Do Not Disturb” sign, and bolted the door behind them.  
The detective stalked toward the pathologist with an expression that could only be described as hunger. When he was directly in front of her, he inclined his body to continue kissing her, but she held him up with a finger at his mouth.  
“Would you do a little something for me, Mr. Holmes?” She asked, sheepishly.  
“I can’t think of anything I would not do for you, Miss Hooper.” His voice was full of promise and adoration–a soft, deep purr. He meant every word, and she believed. Her embarrassment turned to fire in her bones.  
“Strip for me.” Her voice was cool despite the flame within her.  
“As you wish, darling.” He began disrobing, but he was too hasty.  
“Slower.” She said, unapologetically.  
He smirked and slowed his pace. “Should we have a little music on? I could use a rhythm to work with.”  
“Not necessary, you’re doing just fine with the soundtrack in my head. Continue.”  
As he untucked and removed his Oxford shirt, he slipped his tie, formerly in a shell knot, from under the collar and draped it over his neck. She scowled with curiosity at this.  
“Saving this for later.” He flicked one end of the tie. The thought of his intentions sent her already boiling blood speeding through her veins. She thought it might turn to vapor.  
He tossed the shirt aside and moved to unfasten his trousers. She tried to contain her glee, but a toothy grin spread across her face. She tried to hide it by chewing on the tip of her thumb.  
“You do that a lot, you know? That ‘biting your thumb’ thing. It’s quite a distraction.”  
“Is it?” She asked, innocently.  
“Cripplingly. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to take its place, Molly. Be the one in your pretty little mouth.” Sherlock stepped carefully from his trousers and tossed them aside.  
“Well, here’s your chance.” She dropped to her knees as she said the words, assuming a position he’d fantasized about countless times. He stepped up to her and caressed her cheek, smiling at her.  
She was still dressed, except for the knickers, and despite her current position, it made her feel immensely powerful. She was the less vulnerable one in this scenario, even though he surely had the means to cripple her irreparably with a single word of disdain or reproach.  
“Hmm, where to start!” She said, sounding mildly like a child trying to decide which present they should open first after a visit from Father Christmas. She just learned his body with her hands over the thin fabric of his pants, at first. She explored every hill and valley in his utterly perfect mid-section. She leaned into the ever-increasing bulge, planting warm-breathed kisses along the curvatures of the cotton-covered appendage. She groaned against his stiffening flesh, hardening still, as a result of the vibrations. He was whimpering like a begging hound, eager to receive a treat, or table scraps. She conceded and pulled down the pants.  
He was big! Molly had expected a larger girth than she was used to, judging merely from the cut of his trousers, but that was an understatement in this case. The widening of her eyes was not lost on him. He giggled a bit, and she looked up at him.  
“I don’t mind if you’d like to dote on it. You know I like an audience for that very reason.”  
Molly giggled now, knowing that the main reason he carried people along on his cases was so he could show off. It must kill him that he couldn’t show off this particular genetic gift within the parameters of propriety.  
“Ok, what are the standard ones? ‘Oh god, you’re so huge!?’ They use that one, don’t they? Maybe I’ll save that for later and make better use of my time and mouth.”  
She began lapping and licking at him, swirling her tongue around his stiff flesh. She took him into her mouth, and back out, adjusting to his size until eventually she could take him all in, and down her throat. Gagging was not something Molly did often, and if she did, it would be because of something she worked on every day in the lab, and not the perfect man before her. She thought he was almost there, but he stopped her.  
“If I’m going to finish out the night, I need you to stop that.” He said, breathlessly with his fingers in her hair. “Stand up, Molly. Please.” She did as she was asked. He pulled her to him and kissed her gently, but with a firmness that was full of sheer need. After a few moments, he took hold of her hand and pulled her into the bedroom.  
He backed her up to the side of the bed, kissing her, while hiking her dress up until her backside was bare, and made her sit down. His lips moved to her neck as he found the hook and zipper at the top of her deep purple, sleeveless dress. He nipped and sucked at her smooth, soft, alabaster skin while slowly, so very slowly, unzipping her. She could do nothing but breathe heavily and claw at his back. Until she remembered something he’d said awhile back about his head being very tender and his hair follicles being very sensitive. She ran her hands and nails through the thick mane, gently tugging and scratching until he sped up a bit.  
He grabbed the dress by the hem, gathered it at the waist, and lifted it carefully over Molly’s head. She was, surprisingly, but thankfully, not wearing a bra. He tossed the frock aside and grabbed her face between his hands. He looked at her as though he was trying to memorize every pore and freckle. Every miniscule line and minute hair. Every fleck of gold in her deep brown eyes. He laid her down and kissed her again, his tongue learning every inch of her warm mouth. He moved to her ears, down her neck and chest, and over her supple breasts and firm nipples. He worshipped every inch of her torso with his lips and tongue, skipping her center and continuing down each leg. She couldn’t stand the suspense of him being so close, but not giving her what she needed.  
“Sherlock,” she moaned, “don’t tease! I need you!”  
“I know darling, and I promise you’ll have me. Forever, if you like. But right now, I want us to savor this time. Our first time together. You’ll thank me by the time we’re done. Do you trust me?”  
“Yes.” She said, a bit of sarcastic reluctance colored her breathless response.  
“Good. Because this is going to get harder before it gets easier.”  
He moved in to tease her moist flesh, avoiding, dancing around the spot he knew she needed him, delaying her pleasure, but somehow, intensifying it. He felt her discomfort increase and finally gave in when he thought she might just shed tears. He dragged his moist tongue across the small bead. She was so sensitive after his teasing that she bucked at the intense sensation, but he followed the movement of her hips, anticipating her reactions. He repeated the action, and varied it, adding flicks and swirls here and there. He revisited her flooded core with first one finger, then two. He hooked her inner trigger with a steady, slow massage, then sped up, alternating which finger was in contact with it. Between his fingers and his mouth, she was on the brink of climax. She ran her hand through his thick, dark hair, and he moaned. The subtle vibration was all she needed. She tumbled into the sweet oblivion, gasping his name.  
As she came down from her high, Sherlock moved up her body, laying sweet kisses on her skin, which was dewy from exertion. He savored her saltiness, and when he got to her lips, she could taste her whole body in his mouth. The flavor sent a fresh wave of arousal to her still pulsing core. She needed him desperately. She wrapped her legs around his waist, determined to keep him between them until they’d collapsed from exhaustion.  
“Now?” He asked, tentatively.  
“God, yes, Sherlock! Now, Please!”  
He positioned himself and entered her slowly, retreating slightly again before he’d been fully engulfed in her. He teased her like this a few more times until she took control, pulling him into her with all of the force she could manage. He gasped.  
“My, we are impatient, aren’t we?”  
“Nearly five years of pining, primping to get your attention, and bending to your every whim? That followed by this evening of nearly cruel teasing, I think I’ve earned a bit of impatient.”  
“Well, wait no longer, darling.” He lifted her backside off the bed enough to put a pillow under it, giving him a better angle on her pressure points. He slid ever more quickly in and out of her to the rhythm of her moans, cries, and exclamations of words like “god,” “Sherlock,” “yes,” and “fuck.” They were not necessarily in that order. She was almost ready for release again, and he knew it before she even told him. “I’m close, Sherlock! Oh, so cl—  
He thumbed her just above where their bodies joined, and in mere seconds she was convulsing again into a quivering mass of pleasure. He left her body, and finished himself over her abdomen, which was still rising and falling rapidly.  
“Unh, Molly!” He cried, and collapsed onto her skin, slick with sweat and come.  
They quieted their racing pulses in each other’s arms, caressing skin, and inhaling scent.  
“So,” Molly began, “that old assumption that women love a man who can play an instrument? Does that hold just as true for men about women?”  
“Oh, I should say so! And, if you’d been playing a guitar, we wouldn’t have made it to the lift!”  
They both chuckled.  
“I think I’d like a nice hot shower. Care to join me, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”  
“Say my name like that, and I’ll follow you to Hell and back!”  
“Just the shower will do, tonight. But we can get it as hot as you like!” She winked at him.  
“I’ll take that as a challenge!”  
“Maybe when we get back we can find a use for that tie?”  
“Absolutely!”  
And they popped up from the bed and disappeared into the ensuite, happy as idiots and un-phased by the insult that implied.


End file.
